


Mango

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Medical Emergency, Office, POV Outsider, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 19:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt: <i>Secret relationship: they've been together for years without telling anyone, and something gives them away.</i> Mordred, the new quantitative modelling researcher at Albion Ratings, developes a crush on Merlin. So he starts nosing around to find out whether Merlin's free to date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mango

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Манго](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3619764) by [bitter_zephyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitter_zephyr/pseuds/bitter_zephyr)



> Beta-read by the amazing and ever lovely dk323!

Mordred smiled when he saw Merlin sitting at Pret à Manger's window table. He straightened his tie and decided to give the new coffee shop on the corner a pass in favour of Pret. 

The door yawned as he entered but Merlin didn't look up from his furious iPhone tapping, so Mordred went up to the freezer stand, picked up a sandwich, then queued at the counter for a latte. 

Only when Mordred put the tray down on his table did Merlin look up. At first he appeared startled, then he thumbed at the screen of his phone, getting it back to menu position, and smiled up at Mordred. “Mordred!” he said, “I thought you were balls deep in that report.”

Mordred scratched at his neck before sinking into the seat across from Merlin's, “Eh, well, I took a breather.”

Merlin smiled a smile that encouraged a corresponding one in Mordred. “You did the right thing. We don't want you all stressed out even while you're on probation.”

Mordred chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. I should probably have been a good boy and stuck it out in the office but I was so hungry.”

Merlin's lips twitched. “Still a growing boy.”

Mordred went red. He threw a napkin at Merlin and said, “Oh shut up. You're what? Two years older than me?”

Merlin bowed comically. “Indeed. I've been at Albion Ratings these past two years, three months and... a bunch of days.”

Mordred opened his sandwich box but kept looking at Merlin from under his lashes. “Well, if you can survive under Pendragon then I suppose I can too.”

“He likes you,” Merlin told him. “He really does. He took a shine to you.”

Before taking a bite out of his bacon sandwich, Mordred said, “Then that's bad news. Legend has it that you and the Boss were on the foot of war when you started out.”

“Who's the tattle tale?” Mordred thought Merlin's smile had dampened somewhat. 

“Just office gossip, Merlin,” Mordred said as amiably as he could, hoping his attack of newbie verbal diarrhoea hadn't caused Merlin to think badly of him. “I shouldn't have repeated it.”

Merlin smiled subtly at his iPhone and said. “I can't say we didn't have our public show-downs.”

Mordred gave his sandwich a bite. “It doesn't seem to be as bad now though,” he said around a gulp. “I mean I haven't witnessed any show-downs between you two. Or have I just come on board during the doldrums phase?”

“Nah,” Merlin said, “it's just that we've found our stride that's all. We get along.”  
“I don't know how you do it,” Mordred said, picking out a piece of lettuce that seemed to be none too clean. “I mean he works you ragged. You're always at your desk. And the overtime he has you do! Even I noticed.”

Merlin dropped his gaze. Maybe Mordred shouldn't have pushed the topic, but he did feel sorry for Merlin. Pendragon was working Mordred silly but Mordred was on probation so that was understandable. Mordred got it. He had to prove he was worth hiring. (And he would.) Merlin, on the contrary, had been with Albion longer and the way Arthur was always asking Merlin to problem solve went above and beyond the call of duty. Or contractual obligation.

“I like my job,” said Merlin.

“I like my job too.” Mordred grinned, hoping he hadn't mayo on his teeth and that his conversational _faux pas_ hadn't irritated Merlin. He shared a pause he hoped wasn't awkward with him, then said, “Look, are you going to Leon's birthday party?”

Merlin licked the frosting of crumbs off his cupcake wrapper. “Yeah, I am. Can't not go, can I?”

“Great.” Mordred sat up, spine straightening. “I was wondering whether you'd like to come with me?”

Merlin didn't move a single muscle.

“We could car-pool,” Mordred hastened to add. “It's environmentally friendly, I'm sure.”

“I'm sure it is,” Merlin said, his face relaxing together with his posture. “But I'm told it's easy to reach via tube so, we'll see each other there.”

“Oh come on, Merlin, I was fishing because my car broke down and I know for a fact yours is working.”

Merlin nodded. “Well, yes, that's true.” Merlin tapped his fingers on the table. “Yeah, okay alright, why not.”

He made a show of taking a large bite out of his sandwich and a big sip of his latte, and was about to start on another subject, when Merlin's iPhone started buzzing.

Merlin picked it up, the corners of his mouth going up as he read whatever had been texted to him. He typed fast, fingers flying over the screen. When he was done he put his phone down, downed the rest of his drink and picked up the still wrapped mango cake that had been lying by his elbow all this time. “I'm afraid my lunch-break is over but it was nice chatting with you.”

As Merlin rose, Mordred looked up. “Yeah, yes it was, Merlin.” Mordred fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt. “I hope we can have lunch together again. Having friends on the job is nicer than not having them.”

Merlin's eyes softened and went darker blue. “Sure, of course. I know how being new feels.” Merlin shifted from foot to foot. “Generally, I have lunch round-about this time.”

“And you like Pret.”

“Their tomato soup more like,” Merlin said, “but yeah, you know what I mean.”

Mordred nodded.

“Good.” Merlin bit his lower lip, pulling the flesh upwards with a canine, and lifted his palm. “See you around then.” 

As Merlin walked away, Mordred waved.

**** 

Mordred couldn't believe his eyes; his screen had just gone blue. He had a blue screen of death and this thirty minutes before his working day was over and he was meant to mail a report of market trade and quote information for OTC securities to Mr Pendragon. He tried everything; from frantically pressing the trusty CTRL+ALT+DELETE sequence, to rebooting (nothing came about), to kicking the system unit. 

When nothing happened, Mordred could only curse, bow his head, crushed under the evils of technology, and march into Mr Pendragon's office, hoping he wouldn't be skewered when he revealed he'd failed at his set task.

He was lucky. Mr Pendragon wasn't alone. Merlin was there, albeit surely on the verge of departing. (Mordred didn't think his combo of coat, scarf and messenger bag meant he was staying). He could only hope that if he blurted his problem out before Merlin went, he wouldn't get the dressing down of the century. Witnesses and all that.

“Mr Pendragon?” Mordred said. 

Mr Pendragon's eyes zeroed in on him. He didn't seem angry, there was no tension frown on his forehead, but he did have circles under his eyes and was sporting a general tired air, complete with shoulder slump and marked vampiric pallor. This could mean Mr Pendragon might not fly off the handle at him because he didn't have the energy. It could also mean he was so done in he was actually ready to snap. “Mordred? Is there a problem?”

“Yes, well, I seem to have one with my desktop. It's frozen.”

Mr Pendragon's eyebrow climbed up in a disbelieving arch. “I see.”

“I swear, Mr Pendragon, I can retrieve the report and mail it to you tomorrow,” Mordred said, hands joined together. “I just need someone to unfreeze my PC.”

Merlin stepped in. “I'll help.”

Mordred turned to Merlin. “You can unfreeze it?”

“Probably.” Merlin sent him a smile. “And if not I have a tech on tap.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and jiggled it at Mordred.

“That would be lovely,” Mordred told Merlin. “Thank you.”

Mr Pendragon squeezed his sinuses. “Send me the report by Monday.”

“Yes, sir,” Mordred said, trying to sound as confident of success as he could. He really loved this job and would rather be able to stay on. Being given a trial hire at all in this competitive market and basically out of uni had been a stroke of luck Mordred knew to cling to. “I promise. By Monday.”

Mr Pendragon's eyebrow stayed in place. Merlin placed his hand on Mordred's shoulder. “Come on, let's go have a look at your tech apocalypse.” He waved amiably at Mr Pendragon on his way to the door.

Fleetingly, Mr Pendragon smiled. “See you on Monday, Merlin.” He didn't acknowledge Mordred further. (Ouch, probably ticked off.)

Merlin led Mordred back to his cubicle and prowled around his desk to set his sights on Mordred's computer. “Did you get any stop code?”

Mordred wasn't sure what that was about. “No, it just died.”

Merlin threw a look at his watch before setting down to work. “Well, that would have helped. Let's say I save the file you want to send Arthur? Would that be okay for tonight?”

“That'd be lovely, thanks, Merlin.”

“I'd stay on but we're doing happy hour. That is, Freya, Daegal, Gwaine and me. I told them I'd at least drop by, so I'll try this--” He bent down to press the start button.

“I already tried re-starting,” Mordred began.

Merlin was busy pushing at a key repeatedly. “Did you try starting it in safe-mode?”

Just as Mordred prepared to answer that he hadn’t thought about that, a screen appeared and Merlin selected the safe mode option. 

“I've been quite stupid not to think of that.”

Merlin clicked away, “Nah, you probably just panicked, thinking Arthur would eat you alive. Believe me, this stuff's happened to me at least a hundred times.” Merlin focused on the screen. “But you'll have to get a tech to get to the bottom of this anyway.” He stuck his tongue out, which made Mordred stare, and asked, “Your documents folder is easily accessible. What's the name of the file you needed sent to Arthur?”

“Uh?” Mordred said, still focused on the wrong thing entirely.

“File's name? I think I can save it.”

“OTC securities, and yesterday's date,” Mordred at last said.

Merlin took a thumb drive out of his messenger bag, stuck it in a port and saved the file. He reached his arm out, passing the drive on to him. Mordred took it gratefully, their fingers brushing. “I don't know how to thank you.”

“Well, don't crow yet,” Merlin said. “I have no idea what caused the blue screen. What I can do is call in a favour from IT assistance and have you put on their priority list.”

Mordred looked at the little drive in his hand, relieved he had his data back, and a little flushed at Merlin's niceness. “I'm really grateful, honest, Merlin. I don't know what to say. You've been a gem already and with you having to go, I don't really want to bother you any more.”

Merlin smiled. “I was exactly where you are a couple of years, ago, Mordred. Well, more or less. So I get you and am happy to help.” Merlin fiddled with Mordred's desktop some more. “You don't have to feel like you have no friends round here just because you're new. Actually, why don't you tag along? Freya's lovely, Gwaine's a riot, and Daegal is just a few months into his internship. You'd get along.”

Modred's lips lifted. “Yeah.” Mordred couldn't be happier. “I'd like that, thank you.”

Before leaving the office, Merlin texted his friend in IT, promised him this person would meet Mordred in the morning, and then led him out of the building. “We're going to Amber,” said Merlin, walking quickly down the street. “I'm not very fond of the place but Freya loves their drinks and, well, that's it. Freya loves their drinks”

“I'm fine with the place if you're fine,” Mordred said. Adapting was key in making a good impression.

Since it was a weekday the Amber bar wasn't as crowded as might be expected though Mordred had a suspicion he and Merlin were only allowed in by virtue of their smart work clothes. The bouncers were scowling too much for that not to be the case.

Inside, though, the atmosphere was far more welcoming, office workers slightly in their cups smiling at them as they passed. They immediately found the group they belonged to and made for their table.

Freya, Mordred had often seen around. He wasn't exactly on speaking terms with her but he knew her by sight. She was very pretty though in a non flashy way, and had a reputation for being kind. How true that was Mordred didn't know but if he had to go by her looks he'd have to say she seemed to fit the part. Gwaine was a legend at Albion Ratings so Mordred hadn't failed to meet him, harbour a small crush that went nowhere, and forget about him. Daegal was probably even younger than Mordred himself and that, Mordred thought, made him the most approachable of all. 

“Freya, Daegal, Gwaine, you know Mordred,” Merlin said, “this is Arthur's new prodigy boy.”

“I'm just the new quantitative modelling researcher,” Mordred said. 

Freya shook his hand, Daegal held up his to communicate his hello, and Gwaine lolloped over, slinging an arm across Mordred's back. “Well, done, Merlin,” Gwaine said, “bringing new blood.” He sent Merlin a sly look. “Or is this one paw's off?”

Mordred felt himself redden. He studied Merlin for clues, hoping Merlin would react in the same way he had, proving that Merlin had an interest in him. Poker faced, Merlin didn't, though he laughed amiably and said, “Down, Gwaine, don't pester Mordred. Now be a good mate and buy us a drink.”

Gwaine let go of Mordred and pressed a kiss to Merlin's cheek. “Anything for you, my love.”

Merlin batted Gwaine away, then turned him towards the bar so Gwaine could see where he was being sent. “Go and redeem yourself,” he said.

Gwaine went without raising any objections.

Mordred went a bit crossed-eyed, however. “Are you two?” He pointed his finger at Merlin and at Gwaine's receding form. “Together?”

Freya laughed. “No, Gwaine's just easy. He'd do anyone. With all due respect for Merlin, who, I think, was Gwaine's number one unrequited crush, they're not together.”

“No,” Daegal, agreed, “Gwaine will proposition everybody. If you don't pay attention and flirt, you might find yourself with your trousers around your ankles having sex in a loo with him. He's _that_ easy.”

Freya elbowed Daegal. “Oh, so that's how it happened!”

Daegal chuckled. “That was not an autobiographical anecdote.”

“I'm sure it wasn't,” Merlin said, sitting across from Daegal. “I'm sure that all references to--”

Daegal threw a peanut at Merlin. “I have a girlfriend.”

“Now,” Merlin said. “As to before...”

Before Gwaine could come back with the drinks, Mordred slipped into the seat next to Merlin. Gwaine bounded over, managing not to spill the contents of the glasses he was carrying, smirked at Mordred, sitting opposite him, and distributed the garish cocktails he'd chosen.

“What's that?” Merlin asked, looking daggers at his drink.

“Seconding the question,” said Freya, scrunching her nose a little. “It's pink. Very pink.”

“Live a little,” said Gwaine, nearly downing half his drink in one go. 

Dageal eyed the glass, then said, “Why not,” and did the same.

“Uh, uh,” said Merlin, “it's because I want to continue living that I'm asking.”

Mordred followed Merlin's example and didn't touch his drink. 

“Barman said something like raspberry purée,” Gwaine said. Diluted with a fair amount of alcohol. I can't be sure seeing as I was admiring his pecs.”

Before either Merlin or Mordred could give a tentative sip, Mr Pendragon appeared at their table with a brunette in tow. “You made it, boss,” said Freya, standing up and kissing his cheek. 

Everybody else at the table half rose to greet Arthur. 

“My God, stay, this is your downtime,” Arthur said. Then turned towards his companion and added, “Folks, this is Mithian Nemeth from Dickinson and Gilbert.”

“Hello,” Ms Nemeth said.

“A lawyer,” Gwaine said, more direct than he should probably have been. “Are we in trouble, Arthur?”

Mr Pendragon gave Gwaine a tight smile. “No, no legal trouble for us. Mithian is just a friend I had a late meeting with and who'd like a drink now.”

“Oh, well, that's comforting,” Gwaine said, standing up to make space for the new arrival. “I'll buy the lovely Ms Nemeth a drink.”

Merlin mimed a, “Please, no,” most of the table seemed to concur with him if the looks they shot at Mr Pendragon were anything to go buy.

“All right.” Mr Pendragon handed Gwaine his coat and scarf. “I'll go get less... colourful drinks than the ones you'd choose. What do you want?”

“Beer,” said Daegal. “Anything they've got on tap, please.”

“A Prosecco, please, Arthur,” said Freya.

“I'll have the same,” said Ms Nemeth with a smile.

Mr Pendragon put his hand on Mordred's shoulder. “So we're left with you. What would you like to have?”

Mordred thought long and hard. Even if the setting was informal he should make a good impression. Then again it was past office hours and Gwaine had already downed that pink concoction of his. Mordred wanted to fraternise, become part of the group. He wouldn't if he stuck out like a sore thumb and behaved like a newbie idiot. “A vodka and lime.”

“Coming right up,” Mr Pendragon said, going to order the drinks. 

Mithian Nemeth slipped in the booth next to Gwaine, who'd reclaimed his place after Arthur had gone to place their order. “I promise there won't be any legal talk.”

“That's all right,” Gwaine said, “you can talk about Arthur's penis. That's just as interesting.”

Mordred's attention went to Ms Nemeth's face. He hadn't thought she was Mr Pendragon's date. Mr Pendragon had seemed as aloof with her as he usually was around everyone else. But now he thought about it that satyr Gwaine must have guessed right. She must be. Trust Gwaine to have the right instincts on that matter.

Ms Nemeth didn't seem embarrassed by the proposition. She didn't make a face, blush, or change her tone. In a very nonchalant tone she said, “What makes you think I know?”

“Come on, I'm not naïve,” Gwaine told Nemeth. He then turned to Daegal for support. “Am I, kid?”

Daegal was prevented from answering by Freya,who said, “No, you're a perv. We all know that.”

“I can't dictate thoughts,” Ms Nemeth said, “but you're mistaken. I'm not Arthur's partner.”

“Nah, don't think so. I think you're the one he was hiding.”

“So,” Merlin told Mordred, startling him away from the conversation concerning his boss' private life. “You're not from London, are you?”

Mordred dimpled. He was glad Merlin had noticed his accent. “No, you're right. I'm from the North. I suppose I do sound like it too.”

“Yeah, a bit,” Merlin said. “I'm not a born Londoner either. I'm a country boy through and through.”

“Me too,” Mordred said. “I could see sheep from my old room's window.”

“Me too! And hear the bleating.” Merlin's eyes crinkled at the corner. “I'm from Ealdor. It's quite notorious for that.”

“I definitely know what that's like,” Mordred says. He was leaning closer when someone dunked the new drinks on the table. “Here you all go. Chip in.”

Mordred looked up. Mr Pendragon was back, helping the others to the drinks he'd bought.

“Is that mine, sir?” Mordred asked politely.

“Yes, that's yours.”

Merlin took his, no more questions asked because Mr Pendragon's temper seemed to have been raised during his short jaunt to the bar, and took a sip.

Mr Pendragon, like Daegal, had got himself a pint. He settled across from them, squeezing Ms Nemeth in. The more Mordred saw of them together, the more he thought he was just witnessing a date between his boss and his hot solicitor.

When Mordred again paid attention to the ongoing conversation at the table, the subject had shifted. 

“So,” said Freya, “cards on the table, what are you all getting Leon for his birthday?”

“Oh, no, that's a secret,” Daegal said.

“But what if I get him the same thing as you?”

Daegal worried his lip. “That's a valid objection.”

The conversation turned to Leon and his tastes and what they were all getting him. They all ploughed on and Mordred felt left out. He knew Leon -- he was their manager – and had got an invitation to his party, just like the others. But he had no idea what to get him or how to make a good impression on him. How not to be the odd one out. He turned to Merlin for help. “I'm dead sure I'm going to come up with the wrong gift idea.”

Merlin patted his arm and smacked his lips after having taken a little pull of his drink. “Leon is very accepting. I'm sure he'll just be overjoyed with whatever you get him.”

“But that'd be politeness,” Mordred said, taking a slow sip of his own shot. 

“Mordred, just take it easy.”

“I'd be easier if I knew what to get him.” Mordred sighed at Merlin. “But I don't because I'm new and I haven't known any of you long. I was wondering...” Mordred trailed off. He didn't really want to impose. 

“Wondering what?” Merlin shot him a toothy green, eyes wrinkling with good humour.

“If we could choose together.”

Merlin's lips spread into a wide smile. “Sure, why not? Though I ought to warn you, I have bad taste.”

“That's for sure,” Mr Pendragon said, before resuming the conversation he had going with Ms Nemeth, one Mordred had ignored and could continue to ignore because Merlin was much more engaging. 

Even though Mr Pendragon was his boss, Mordred defied him by saying, “I'm sure Merlin will come up with a lovely suggestion.”

Contradicting Mr Pendragon might not have been a good idea however, for no sooner were the words out of Mordred's mouth than he said, “I hope you have solved all issues with the report I asked for.”

Mordred lowered his head to his chest. “Yes, sir. I'll mail it to you tomorrow. I thought there'd be no point tonight.”

“Nice of you to assume I wouldn't check my mail later tonight.”

Mordred was in deep shit. “I didn't mean it like that, sir.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, “Mordred has the file here with him. I can mail it to you myself.”

“That won't be necessary, Merlin. No need to come to the boy's rescue,” said Mr Pendragon. “I can wait.”

Mr Pendragon might have claimed he was appeased, but Mordred just felt that he wasn't. He scowled at him whenever he could. He'd smile at Ms Nemeth – decidedly a flame of his – and the others and then he'd turn and look grimly at Mordred.

Mordred had done it. He'd bollocksed up his chances of retaining his job past the trial contract period because he hadn't been quick enough mailing his boss the data required. And on top of that he'd been a little bit of a smart arse on Merlin's behalf. It was done. He'd get the boot quite soon. He lifted his shot glass and emptied it. Gwaine said, “Whoa, mate. That's brilliant. Old West brilliant. I'll get you another if you do that again.”

Mordred said, “Why not?”

Gwaine bought him two more shots, got him flirting with the barman, which Mordred didn't particularly want to do since he preferred Merlin to him by far, and then two more shots. By the fourth Mordred thought his stomach had gone a little hollow, roiling as it did when he went rafting, and his thoughts rarefied, becoming more difficult to pin down. “I mean it's not my fault my computer froze,” Mordred said, “and I am so sorry it happened. But do you think that's likely to ruin my fut--” He stumbled on the word. “Fut-- You know--” He gestured, forgetting his shot glass. It rolled down the counter until a pundit stopped it and gave it back to the barman. “At Albion?”

Gwaine snapped his thumb and index at their table. “Oi, Merlin, I think I need help here. Baby-face here is sloshed.”

Mordred scowled. He wasn't a baby. He protested the definition. “I'm a young prosfestional.”

“Yeah, that's the word.”

Merlin bounded over. “What? Sloshed? How?”

“He gulped them ---” Gwaine pointed at the array of shot glasses they'd collected – “down quick.”

“I want to stay a prostestional,” Mordred said. “Boss hates me now.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “I see what you mean, Gwaine.” He spun round to Mordred, wrapping his hand around Mordred's to get the glass away from him. 

Mordred alternately liked it – touch! – and could do without: i.e., wanting to keep his drink. “I like it. Let me have it.”

“Believe me,” Merlin said, still intent on wresting the glass away from him, “you'll thank me tomorrow.”

“But it's so good and I'm in such shit.”

“No, you're not,” Merlin said, “but you will be if Arthur sees you drunk off your arse. He doesn't like that kind of thing.” 

“I do care about the job.” Mordred conceded ownership of the glass to Merlin. 

“Great,” Merlin said, slipping an arm round his waist and leading him back to the table. “A great way of showing that is calling an end to the evening. So you can sober up at home.”

Assessing the situation, Mordred said, “I don't feel all that well, actually.”

As if the words had brought a new awareness about, he realised his head felt light and wrapped in cotton. His feet weren't exactly doing what he wanted them to either. And he felt queasy. Very much so. Not everything was bad though since Merlin was buoying him up. Secure in his grip, Mordred slumped against him and buried his nose in Merlin's neck.

As if from very far away he heard Merlin say, “Mordred wants to say goodbye.”

Thinking it'd please Merlin, Mordred waved. 

“He can't possibly drive or go alone,” said Freya.

“I'm not letting him,” Merlin said.

Mordred wanted to protest his presence there. He'd participate in the conversation since they were so clearly discussing him. Unfortunately, he didn't think the sounds coming out of his mouth were understandable.

“Oh, poor puppy,” Freya said.

“You're not walking him either,” Gwaine observed. “He's so much dead weight.”

“Take my car,” said Mr Pendragon, handing Merlin a very shiny pair of keys tied to a Mercedes key-chain. “Mithian can drop me home.”

Without dislodging Mordred, Merlin slipped the keys into his pocket. “Well, I'd better get him home. See you all tomorrow.”

“Merlin,” Mr Pendragon called out when Mordred and Merlin were already halfway to the bar's door. “Watch out, will you.”

Merlin stilled, then half turned and gave a wink. “There won't be a scratch on your baby, don't worry.”

Mordred was quite hazy on the details – he did remember experiencing a wave of nausea and emptying the contents of his stomach on the pavement – but somehow he did get home. “How did we get heeeere?” 

“Had a look at your driving licence,” Merlin said, opening the door to his flat.

“Dandy,” Mordred said.

Merlin scanned his flat. “Where's your bedroom?”

Mordred flailed his hands at it. 

“I guess that means that door there,” Merlin said, directing him towards it. 

The carpets being more of an obstacle than they usually were, they stumbled a couple of times, but Merlin persevered and he got Mordred into his room and on his bed. When Merlin knelt down to remove his shoes, Mordred felt warmth spread in his belly. “Don't know if I'm up for it,” he said, though he was sure the corners of his lips were pulling upwards “What?” Merlin asked. With a hand on his shoulder for leverage, Merlin slowly straightened. As he did, Mordred surged for his mouth.

For a second their lips stayed stuck, then the moment passed, nothing much happening, and, not understanding how that was possible since Merlin was here getting his shoes off, Mordred went for another press of lips, one that was perhaps a little more coordinated and pleasant. This was sure to work better for Merlin.

Or not.

Merlin squeezed his shoulder, and wide eyed, backed away. “Mordred, no, all right? No.”

“But you're nice!” Mordred found himself saying. It wasn't that he wasn't telling the truth; rather he was a little appalled to find that he was blabbing it all out in a less than dignified manner. 

Merlin cupped the back of Mordred's possibly lolling head. “Thank you for the compliment, Mordred. It's still no, okay?” 

Mordred made a noise that was half a moan, half a mewl. Yet Merlin's touch calmed away the drunken buzz from his mind and helped him relax. “I think we have a lot in common, Merlin,” Mordred said in a slightly sing-song voice.

Merlin undid his tie and, when it came loose, dropped it on top of the night stand. “Mordred, you just need to sleep this off. Everything will be clearer in the morning.--”

Mordred tried to focus on Merlin but the floor and ceiling alarmingly met so he had to pay attention to that. Only when he was sure neither would collapse did he pay attention to what was being said to him. But even that wasn't easy because he had to concentrate hard on not barfing when Merlin turned him around like a capsized beetle. Granted, Merlin did that to get him under the duvet but Mordred went seasick for a moment. By then Mordred had lost the thread entirely.

“Sleep tight, Mordred,” Merlin said, tucking him in. “I'll tell Arthur you'll be a bit late tomorrow morning.”

Mordred tried to make a grab for Merlin, to explain his feelings, but Merlin made for the door and switched the light off. 

The darkness lulled Mordred, his brain power diminishing to the point that, try as he might, he couldn't follow a single thought to completion.

Whatever he wanted to say didn't come out and soon he shut down completely.

 

*****

 

Mordred woke to the worst hangover ever. His head pounded, his tongue was foul with a wretched taste out of all proportion with the amounts he'd drunk, a sour stomach was being corroded by gastric juices and needles pierced his eardrums in a disturbing rhythmic pattern that made him contemplate ritual suicide. Worst of all he woke later than he normally would have. So late he was sure to get a reprimand. The thought of one prompted a somersault – he sat upright like the Frankenstein monster in a bad Hammer movie – and a wave of oncoming memories from the night before got to him.

After they assailed him, one thing became clear. He'd probably behaved like an idiot. He definitely remembered getting drunk before his boss and having to be carted home by Merlin. He hadn't forgotten the report he had to mail either or the fact that there was no likelihood he'd make it into the office by the prescribed time.

He had a vague recollection of Merlin telling him he could come in later but since Mordred wasn't sure Merlin had the authority to grant him that kind of reprieve he flung himself into the shower and tried to gain a modicum of coherence back.

He was dressed and more or less presentable by nine. He was prepared to have the most rapid breakfast in the history of breakfasts so he could hightail it out of his flat fast enough to be in the office by ten, when he noticed the signs of someone passing by his kitchen.

What he saw made him waste a few more precious minutes, but also made him happy. Merlin, god bless the precious soul, had left a note on the fridge and a full breakfast on the table. The note said: Aspirin's on the counter. Heat then eat. Take meds. Take care.”

Mordred wasn't about to let Merlin's efforts go to waste. He heated his breakfast, took his aspirin, and feeling a little bit more like a normal mortal and a lot in love, he rushed to the Tube.

Living at the outer limits of Zone Four, he made it back to the city absurdly late but he got no telling off even though he passed by Mr Pendragon's office, the door of which stood open, and Mr Pendragon decidedly saw him.

Not wanting to try his luck, Mordred dove into his office and started the laptop he'd brought from home, seeing to sending the report he owed as soon as the thing had properly started up.

He worked as diligently as he could; welcomed the IT tech Merlin had sent him and even skipped lunch in an attempt to make up for the time lost in the morning.

At around three, Tyr knocked on his cubicle's door. “I didn't see you down at Pizza Express, so I thought I'd buy you this.” He left a chicken wrap on his desk.

Mordred's smile bloomed as bright as he could make it given his hangover. “Why, thank you. That's very kind.”

Tyr sat in the little desk armchair that was wedged between Mordred's desk and the window. “Happy to be of help, you know. If we new hands don't help each other, I don't know who will.”

Thinking of Merlin, Mordred said, “There's plenty of lovely people here at Albion.” 

“I suppose,” Tyr said. “Yeah, most of them are yuppies though.”

“Merlin isn't,” Mordred rushed out. He hadn't even thought his words out properly. “I mean he's quite nice and down to earth.”

Tyr lifted a shoulder to his ear. “Yeah, you're right. I like him. Strange he hasn't had a promotion yet. He does loads for Albion. Shows you us ordinary people never will get far.”

“I told you he's nice.” Mordred shifted one pile of documents from one corner of his desk to the other, preparing for breaking out a question that was bound to sound odd. “Tyr, do you think he's with anyone?”

“Who?” Tyr asked. “Merlin?”

Mordred made sure the second pile was symmetrical. “Yeah.”

Mordred was sure he had Tyr's eyes firmly on him. “Never seen him with anyone myself. No one ever drops by looking for him and nobody ever comes by after hours. So I don't know.”

Mordred made an effort to look Tyr in the eyes. “Any rumours?”

“Rumours?”

“Things people say,” Mordred said, waving the pencil he'd just picked up about. “You know like they do for Gwaine.”

“I heard he dated Ms Waters once,” said Tyr, smoothing down his trousers, “when he first joined Albion. But I'm not sure it's true. Just something someone told me.”

Mordred gave a wince. “Um.”

“You don't look happy,” Tyr said, leaning forward. “Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to gossip.”

Mordred spread his hand in a peace sign. “Tyr, I asked you. No, it's just that, you know, I was sure Merlin was gay.”

Tyr's mouth dropped open. “Oh, you wanted to...”

“Yes,” Mordred said, smiling a little tightly, “I wanted to ask him out.”

“Shouldn't you ask him?”

“What, ask him out? I did in a way, but now I'm thinking perhaps I made a mistake.” Freya, who'd have thought that. She and Merlin had seemed friendly to him, but they had not acted as he guessed lovers would. Perhaps his preconceptions – and his stakes in this – had led him astray. “No, I couldn't anymore. Not if he's straight.”

“No, I didn't mean that,” Tyr said, brow puckering as he seemed to go over what he'd said. “I just thought you should ask him if he's gay or straight or bi and clear that issue. Though now that I think about it, you shouldn't do it point blank while he's working.”

“Best not,” Mordred agreed, humming softly under his breath as he planned on the best approach. “You're right. I should probably ask him while we're out together. Informal setting and all that.”

“Yeah, do that,” said Tyr, levering himself up. “Uh, I think I have to go back and do my quota of lowly data gathering.”

Mordred smiled his goodbyes but before Tyr had got out of the door he called out, “Thank you for the tip!”

Tyr chuckled as he made it down the corridor.

Mordred spent the rest of the afternoon working with good cheer and doing more in a few hours than he'd sometimes accomplished in a whole day. Plus Mr Pendragon had mailed back to say that Mordred's report had been concise and had shown insight. So the day had taken a turn for the better. 

By half past five, Mordred was feeling confident he'd done well and was ready to go home with a smile on his face. Considering that he'd started the morning with a hangover and feeling dejected about work, he was quite satisfied with the turn of events.

Laptop case slung across his shoulders he made for the lifts, before which Mr Pendragon and Merlin were standing.

“See, you can leave the office at a normal hour without the world imploding,” Merlin was telling Mr Pendragon. “Like any normal man on a Friday night.”

“I didn't think the universe would implode.”

“No, no, you're right,” Merlin said, shuffling closer to murmur words that Mordred could nonetheless hear. “It's just the vein on your temple there that was at risk of popping.” Merlin ducked his head to hide a little chuckle.

Mr Pendragon looked away and sank his teeth into his lower lip to stifle laughter. His eyes had slimmed into tiny slits but what little was to be seen of them were sparkling. 

That was why Mordred liked Merlin; he managed to put a smile on everyone's face. Even uptight Mr Pendragon.

“See, I was right,” said Merlin. “Undoubtedly.”

“Undoubtedly?” Mr Pendragon asked, sidling closer. This time his lips twitched. “Who talks like that?”

Merlin was surely about to reply but Mordred caught up with them and made his presence known. That stopped him talking. After all, it was wise too. Merlin had been two years at Albion, working closely with the boss, and that meant that he'd gained a certain amount of closeness to him. Wisely Merlin never sought to show it off. 

“Mr Pendragon,” Mordred said, as though he hadn't caught a whiff of those dynamics. He amplified his smile for Merlin. “Merlin.”

“Mordred!” Merlin said, “I heard your report was brilliant.”

Mordred looked to Mr Pendragon for clues. The man had said he'd done well in his mail but Mordred didn't want to brag before him when a few hours prior to this Mr Pendragon had been clearly angry with him over his actions at Amber. Mr Pendragon was wearing an unreadable face so Mordred kept his pride well reined in and said, “I did manage to send it thanks to you, Merlin.”

Mr Pendragon called the lift while Merlin said, “Did William Daira from tech come and sort you out?”

“Oh, yes, he came this morning,” Mordred said. 

“I'm glad it all worked out for you.”

They all stepped into the lift and after the doors had closed Mr Pendragon approached the face panel. 

Mordred and Merlin settled a few paces behind him, facing the mirror wall. Mordred coughed into his fist, made a grab for his courage, and said, “Merlin, are you still okay with going out to get something for Leon's birthday?”

Mr Pendragon thumbed the wrong button, cursed, and pressed the one marked G rather insistently soon after the first débâcle. The lift gave a jerk and slowly gathered more speed as they were whisked down towards the ground floor.

“Oh right,” Merlin said. “Leon's present.”

Mordred's inviting smile waned, going thinner and thinner. The cause was Mr Pendragon's insistent drumming of fingers on top of his briefcase. This reminded him of the fact he had a witness and one that was probably thinking Mordred had his priorities all wrong: sex first, job second. Not what you wanted your boss to believe. That made things awkward. However, this was a prime opportunity to ask Merlin out, so Mordred didn't waver. “I thought you were okay with that,” he said, trying not to look at Mr Pendragon's back. 

“No, I'm okay, that's okay,” Merlin said.

There was a light, electronic chime, and the lift doors opened. Mr Pendragon stepped out of the lift, and made for the exit, but his shoulders hunched and he stopped short, moving over to talk to the security guard in a kind of animated conversation Mordred wondered at but felt relieved about. Not having to make date arrangements in front of his boss was so much better than the opposite. “I was thinking tomorrow's a Saturday, so maybe we could go?”

Merlin shifted his weight. He opened his mouth to speak but waited for the conversation between Mr Pendragon and the security guard – something about his sister coming in next week – to die down before telling Mordred. “Okay, all right. We'll go gift shopping tomorrow.”

“Shall I pick you up somewhere?” Mordred asked.

Merlin ducked his head. “Lemme see,” he said.

There was a pause during which Mordred heard Mr Pendragon ask the security guard whether he thought it would rain.

“No, I think we could see each other at the Exchange shopping centre,” Merlin said. 

“The one in Putney?” Mordred asked a little nonplussed. “I thought your place was somewhere else?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “Live in Stockwell actually. Not that far from Brixton market, but, I, um, promised a friend I'd drop by and they live... Not that far from the Putney area.”

Mordred nodded in understanding. “Okay, all right, text me a time and place and I'll be there.”

“Will do,” Merlin told him. “And if the shopping centre yields nothing there's always the Chelsea store. Leon's a great fan.”

They talked for a minute or so then Mordred went his way, walking past Mr Pendragon, who was practically straddling the sliding doors area, and wondering at the absence of even the slightest drizzle since his boss had made such a fuss about it raining that he'd stayed well indoors for the length of Merlin and Mordred's conversation. However, as soon as he'd cut the corner he forgot about that in order to focus on the big deal: he had a date with Merlin.

 

****

On the evening of his date, Mordred waited for Merlin at BB's Coffee and Muffins. Merlin was late but made up for it by way of big smiles and lots of enthusiasm regarding their mission. He plonked down opposite Mordred, scarf carefully wrapped around his neck, and was so nice, Mordred forgot his pout and his fear of being stood up in order to engage this vivacious version of Merlin.

“Where do you want to start?”

“I was thinking Sporting Feet,” said Merlin, “Leon's very fond of sports. And new footie shoes would be perfect for him.”

“But I don't know his size!” said Mordred. 

Merlin dragged him up and out of his seat. “No worries, I do.”

“How come?” asked Mordred, justifiably, he believed, curious. He didn't know anyone else's shoe size apart from a few exes'. “Was Leon your boyfriend?” That was as good an opener as he was going to get regarding Merlin's sexuality and one that would fly under the radar, considering how legitimate his question now was.

Merlin laughed it off. “What, no! I've just been to a fair number of his matches and have had a few pairs of shoes lobbed at me – no worries I've retaliated – for my lack of understanding about the noble art of footie. Am a basketball man myself.”

Mordred wasn't sure he got it. “Then why did you go to see all those matches?”

“Because half the team's made up of my friends?” said Merlin. “I mean Leon plays, Alator from IT plays, Elyan, you probably don't know him, different floor and more seniority, does too. Arthur, as well.”

“I rather hope they go see you play basketball in return,” Mordred said, labouring to keep up with Merlin's fast pace. “I know I would.”

“Some of them do,” Merlin mumbled, his words sounding less than clear. “Up the escalator,” Merlin told Mordred.

“When are you playing?”

“What?” said Merlin as he flattened himself against the escalator's handrail to make space for a big bloke waddling hurriedly upwards. “You mean basketball?”

“Yeah, I'd come cheer, with popcorn.”

“Mordred,” Merlin said, his tone serious, “I think we should talk.”

They were spilling onto the second floor, when Merlin's phone gave a sharp trill. Merlin said, “I'm so sorry, I'll take this and then we'll...” He gestured at the shops. Mordred nodded. “Yeah,” he then said into the phone, smiling wide. “No, I'm not. Okay, yes, I am, but just this time.” Merlin noted Mordred noticing and his smile waned a little. His voice got more serious too, formal in a way it hadn't been before. “No, actually. In front of Sporting Feet.”

Mordred fixed his eyes on Sporting Feet's window display. 

“I won't,” Merlin said into the phone. “That's because I have principles and you know better.” Merlin paused and hummed. “Uh, uh, feeling slighted now, I see.” There was a return of his humorous tone. “Maybe when I come next time. Yeah, sure. Yep. See ya later.”

Merlin fingered the screen and slipped his phone into his back pocket. “Have you chosen?” he asked Mordred, who was still staring at the window dressing. 

“No, I could use a hand here.” He made sure he was wearing as open an expression as he could. “Want to make a good impression.” 

Merlin's face went all soft. “I'll help,” he said. “They already like you and Leon wanted you at his party. He'll love anything you get him.”

Mordred made a face indicating he wasn't too sure. “I doubt that.”

“I said I'll help,” Merlin said, prodding him into the shop. “And they'll love you.”

It didn't take them too long to come up with a suitable choice for a present and all because Merlin seemed to have a good idea as to Leon's tastes. Whatever it was Merlin had wanted to tell him before he took the phone call though, remained untold. Instead they shopped and had fun. 

Since they were having a good time, Mordred wasn't about to press. They just hung out. Merlin only stopped by at Argos' to get Leon a new pair of state of the art headphones and then they went back to the first floor because Merlin's stomach was growling and he wanted a bite of something. 

They were straddling a bench after having had a little snack and Mordred was about to lean in and ask Merlin if he wanted to do this again, maybe somewhere more datey, when a girl Merlin evidently knew sighted them and started waving. The woman in question had between ten and fifteen shopping bags but for all that she managed to make signs just fine.

Merlin said, “Would you mind? That's a friend.”

“No, of course not,” Mordred said. 

Merlin wandered over to the woman, kissed her cheek, and started chatting and smiling in that ear to ear way of his. His grin morphed when something flickered in his eyes and he grew all serious. He gesticulated. Merlin's acquaintance’s mouth pursed. He gesticulated some more, then his shoulders went limp when she nodded, and Merlin's grin made a comeback. After a minute or so, he waved Mordred over. 

Mordred went.

“Mordred,” Merlin said, “this is a friend of mine, Morgana.”

Morgana eyed her bags to indicate she couldn't shake hands. “Lovely to meet you though.”

“Ah, thank you, nice to meet you too.”

“Merlin tells me you work together,” Morgana said.

Mordred's lips quivered into a tiny smile. “Yes, though he's a little bit further up the ladder.”

“Not as high up as he should be,” Morgana said. “You'll agree.”

Merlin protested, “Morgana!”

“It’s nothing but the truth.”

“Well, I agree,” Mordred said, studying her as she fired him an odd glance.

“Everybody likes Merlin, don't they?” Morgana said, tone laden. “He's just the sweetest. Sweeter than he should be. People take advantage.”

Mordred wasn't an idiot. He had an inkling he was the one that comment was being aimed at though he had no idea as to why it should be. Morgana didn't know him and had no reason to think badly of him, none at all, yet he'd earned himself a barb. “I--”

“In fact,” Morgana added before Merlin could say what he'd opened his mouth to say, “I'll profit from his niceness. If you don't mind I'll borrow him so he can carry my purchases to my car. I'm so tired. You can finish your shopping another day, I hope?”

Mordred couldn't do anything but say, “Yeah, of course, sure.” He eyed his own shopping bag. “We're done after all.”

Merlin sent him a sheepish smile and shrug. “I'll call you soon. Sorry, Morgana just needs a...”

“Gentleman,” Morgana said, clinging to Merlin's sleeve. “Again I hope you don't mind.”

Mordred showed his empty hands in a mock surrender sign. “No, of course, not. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Morgana.”

Morgana's lips stretched into a thin smile. “Likewise.” She turned to Merlin. “My car's in the car park.”

Morgana encumbered Merlin with her bags and after having waved at Mordred, she started towards the exit. Before following after her, Merlin leant closer to Mordred and said, “Sorry. Very sorry about this. I-- Can't explain how Morgana is, but yeah, well, I'll text you about the carpooling thing, all right?”

Mordred watched Merlin go.

He was flummoxed.

 

**** 

Merlin had a used Nissan Rogue that was quite spacious and apt for car-pooling. Before picking up Mordred, he'd apparently also done the same for Freya, a guy Mordred didn't know, and that girl from Avalon security Mordred thought was called Sefa.

Mordred's back slumped a little when he saw that lot in the car but he smiled genially and said hi to everybody before mounting in the back.

Once he was settled he noticed that everybody had a wrapped present on their knees. Like him, they'd also brought some food along to help Leon out with his guests. It had been previously decided that the poor man shouldn't be left to deal with all the cooking alone. A wave of texts had ensured Leon's guests were all on the same page as to that.

Not being that great at baking or any kind of cooking in general, Mordred had bought a cake at a pastry shop he was sure was going to be a winner, especially with Merlin. (The birthday boy deserved dibs but Mordred had his sights on someone else entirely and so he'd taken Merlin into account first when making his choice.)

Leon lived in a nice terraced house in Wimbledon and had a nice girlfriend, whose name was Gwen. She was the one to open the door and play host. Welcoming them in, she led all of them into the spacious living room on the ground floor, which spilled nicely onto a less than manicured but equally large garden.

The living room and the kitchen itself were teeming with guests. Mordred recognised half of them as being Albion Ratings employees, which was normal, since Leon was one of the bigwigs on Mordred's floor. The other half was made up of people Mordred didn't know and that Leon had probably in common with Gwen.

As for the Albion guests, not all of them were on the same pay-grade as Leon. A lot of interns and newer employees occupying the lowest rungs of Albion Ratings social ladder had got an invitation too. People just like Mordred. Daegal was there as were a bunch of other guys Daegal was often seen with. A couple other underdogs was present as well like James Morris from Finance and George Pendleton, also known as the 10th floor bootlicker.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Mr Pendragon had made the guest list. Unlike the after work occasion at Amber he was dateless today – at least Mordred was fairly sure Ms Nemeth from the other day wasn't present – and hanging with the birthday boy himself.

Mordred together with the group he'd arrived with approached Leon. “Happy birthday,” he said, giving Leon his present. 

Leon accepted it enthusiastically. “Oh thank you,” he said, smiling liberally, “you shouldn't have but thank you.”

The others also gave Leon their gifts. Leon was soon covered in a shower of boxes and wrappers. He was happy, or so he said, with each and every one of them, bouncing around like a rather shaggy puppy. He was particularly pleased with Mordred's present, too. “How did you know I wanted footie shoes like these ones?”

Mordred scratched at his collar. “I had help.”

“Oh, then I'm twice grateful,” Leon said. “Thank you, Mordred, for asking around and going all out.”

After tackling Leon with presents they all mingled. Mordred would have used the opportunity to try and cosy up to Merlin a little bit but someone put music on and Merlin started dancing with Freya – could they be back together? – so that option was out for the time being. They were laughing and Merlin was spinning her round until they tumbled into the garden and, despite the uncertain weather, continued dancing around there. 

Gwen and Mr Pendragon, who'd been standing by the French doors, made way for them as they whirlwinded onto the lawn, and chatted as they watched their friends have fun. They both held on to their drinks, Mr Pendragon, leaning against the wooden and glass partition before him, Gwen giggling and sometimes inciting Freya to boogie.

“I'm trying!” Freya called out, “but this one is no dancer.”

“Hey, I'll have you know that having two left feet is an advantage,” Merlin said, twirling Freya around the garden. “More limbs in the picture make for more interesting figures.”

Mr Pendragon called out, “Merlin, don't hobble poor Freya.”

“I won't,” Merlin shouted. “Love her too much for that.”

Mr Pendragon murmured something then took a drink. Mordred found himself hoping that Merlin's admission wasn't literal. Could it be? Was he rekindling the so-called flame with Freya? Mordred hoped not. Still wanting a chance with him, he watched Merlin to see if he could cut in, especially since other couples had made a dance floor of Leon's living room.

But Mordred's chance was lost when Gwaine arrived and asked Mordred for a spin in which two other girls took part. Soon they were doing some kind of communal chicken dance that had the roomful laughing and that put a spanner in Mordred's works.

Despite that Gwaine turned out to be good company so for a while Mordred stuck to him. Gwaine was a good jokester, was in a good mood, party-high, and relating pranks he'd pulled in the past on common acquaintances. That was so entertaining Mordred couldn't keep from asking for more similar stories, holding his belly while he was regaled with another tall tale.

At last they busted out the food they'd brought, starting out with Gwen's chicken Korma, proceeding with the salads – everyone had made one – and getting to Mordred's little dessert which would then usher in Leon's birthday cake. (From Fortnum and Mason.)

As his contribution was being unveiled, Mordred went to the kitchen and asked for two plates. “Wow, still hungry?” asked Gwen, who was supervising the dessert cutting. 

“No, the second portion's for a friend.”

Gwen looked wise. “I see.” She cut out two slices and dished them. “Who's the lucky object of your affections?”

“Merlin,” Mordred said. He hadn't planned to blab that out but Gwen seemed open and amicable, was happily partnered and thus able to give good advice, and unlike Freya, was no rival. “I think he's special.”

Gwen handed him the two little dishes, putting a decoration on top of one, winking. “Special, sweet and mysterious.”

Mordred laughed. “So it's not just me?” he asked. “I mean I thought he came across that way to me because I'm new and there are so many things I don't know about him, but if you share the same impression...”

“Merlin is very friendly,” Gwen said, “but there's a lot he's not telling. Even if we're friends. So yeah, I get you.”

“I just like him and want to look good.”

“I'm sure you will,” Gwen told him encouragingly. “You're lovely too, Mordred. And perhaps he'll open up with someone he's interested in.”

That gave Mordred some confidence even though he had to tell himself not to overdo it with that particular emotion. If Merlin had ignored everyone making up the present company, there was little reason to make Mordred think Merlin would choose him. Still, if he didn't at least try he would never find out.

Plate in hand, he sought Merlin out. He found him stretched on one of the armchairs, feet crossed at the ankle, head thrown back against the rest. His cheeks were a high pink and his forehead was shiny with sweat, fringe plastered to his temples. Mordred really liked the picture he cut. Merlin was attractive in an easy, natural way that really did things for Mordred. “I was wondering if you wanted some of the dessert I brought?” Mordred told him.

Merlin looked up and put a hand flat on his stomach. “Yeah, I do. Sort of hungry with all that dancing, thank you.”

Merlin sank the tiny little dessert fork that went with the dish into the side of the cake and raked up a good portion of it, filling his mouth in one fell swoop. “Quite good,” he said, licking at the tines. “Where d'you buy it?”

“Round the corner from mine,” Mordred said with a proud smile. “I could take you some time. They have these nice corner tables too and you can sample all their products. It's all quite good and fresh.”

Merlin took another bite without committing to an answer. He was chewing again when he started scratching at his neck, raising a red welt alarmingly fast. 

“Merlin,” Mordred said, “are you sure you're all right?”

Merlin put the plate down next to him on the sofa. He gulped and brought his hand round his throat. That was when Mordred noticed that Merlin's lips had swollen. Merlin looked up then, panic in his eyes. He opened his mouth but only a long wheeze came out. He tried again but could only take a short gulp of breath. Considering how fast his chest was rising and falling, that wasn't all right. He should be breathing in as fast as his lungs were working. The gasping ratio was worrying. “Merlin, are you okay?”

Merlin pursed his lips to breathe (or maybe speak) but no more than a few strained sounds came out. He was choking. “Guys,” Mordred shouted, “guys, Merlin's having some kind of attack here!”

Everybody turned round. “Oh, my god,” said Gwen, who'd just ambled in from the kitchen.

Mr Pendragon bounded over, jumping over the coffee table to kneel at Merlin's feet. He checked Merlin's pulse and saw the plate sitting next to him. “What the hell did you give him to eat?” he roared, startling Mordred and making him feel so small the words scarcely made it to hearing range. 

“Mango cake from the shop round the corner.”

“Christ,” Mr Pendragon said as they both watched Merlin's neck muscles strain under the urge to breathe. “He's allergic.” He wheeled his head round. “Leon, call 999. Gwaine--” He rooted into his pocket. “There's an epi-pen kit in the glove box of my car.” He threw his car keys at Gwaine, who snatched them with ease and raced out of the flat.

Leon was busy pounding at his mobile, rattling off his name and address and telling the people on the other end of the line to be quick. The others stared at each other, shock and horror in their gazes.

Mr Pendragon meanwhile was cradling Merlin's face and neck. “Gwaine's going to be here in a moment, okay? Try to breathe. Breathe with me if you can. Do it for me.”

Merlin's eyes were bulging. There were red splotches on his face. His lips were entirely the wrong colour. One of his hands was wrapped around his throat, the other scrabbling for Mr Pendragon. “Arth--” 

Mr Pendragon, on the other hand, was as pale as pale could go. The hand of his that was cupping Merlin's face was shaking. 

“Merlin, damn, breathe. That’s a piss poor job at breathing!” He was shouting now, though his voice was cracking and rasping. 

Merlin wheezed on and on, soaked with sweat, large patches of perspiration showing on his shirt. He sounded like a horse that had just raced to its death. But that was better than what happened right next for at least the panting confirmed he was alive enough to fight for his next breath. But when the ear-splitting panting ceased, Merlin started going laxer on the sofa, sliding down it, as though he had no more strength. The feeble rattling sound of his not-breathing echoed through the room. His eyes were closing, “Fuck, Merlin, breathe!” Mr Pendragon yelled, his words scolding, the look in his eyes telling another tale entirely. Mr Pendragon looked more than a little lost, pupils wide with horror at what was happening and some other kind of primal fear.

In response to Mr Pendragon's shouts, Merlin opened his eyes, pupils dilated. He fisted Mr Pendragon's shirt, trying to spit out Arthur's name. “Ar-- Arth--” The sound died down with a faint whistling quality.

“Fuck, Christ,” said Mr Pendragon. “Please, don’t do this to me. Just don't. Hold on. Come on. Got to be strong, Merlin.” He was thumbing Merlin's temple, trying to set the pace of his breathing by example, and then holding him up when that didn't work. 

Mordred was just about to empty his stomach thinking he'd just killed Merlin, when Gwaine crashed through the door, carrying some kind of emergency kit. 

Feet skidding, Gwaine rushed to Merlin, passing some kind of wallet bag to Mr Pendragon.

Mr Pendragon unzipped the case, undid Merlin's belt, pulled him half down the sofa, yanked down his jeans, removed the rear cap of the syringe-like thing, and shot the contents of the epi-pen in Merlin's thigh while restraining it with his own to keep him down when he instinctively bucked. 

Eyes widening, Merlin tried to pull away, but Mr Pendragon's weight didn't allow him. 

He soon subsided, his breathing getting less laboured. As soon as he did, Mr Pendragon twisted his fingers in his hair and kissed his forehead. And just like that Mordred understood what he hadn't before. As pained and shocked as everyone in the room was, Mr Pendragon had displayed such a blatant amount of fear, affection and care for Merlin that Mordred could no longer misconstrue what he was seeing. Mysterious Merlin did have someone after all and that someone was none other than their boss. “Ambulance's coming, Merlin. Ambulance is coming,” Mr Pendragon said soothingly.

It did indeed arrive less than a minute later. The paramedics found Merlin lying down and Mr Pendragon half wrapped around him, saying low words in his ear. Mordred didn't know which one was paler. 

Competent and brisk, the paramedics asked what had happened and received a shortened version of the events that had led to Merlin's attack from half the room. Mr Pendragon chimed in to say that Merlin suffered from something he called latex-fruit syndrome. The lead paramedic nodding, they lifted Merlin onto a gurney, Merlin protesting that he was fine now. “I don't need any hospitals,” he said weakly, so weakly he sounded totally unconvincing.

“I'm sorry, sir,” said the lead paramedic. “From what I gather you had an airway-obstructing oedema, that's no laughing matter.” The paramedic walked into his walkie talkie and hummed, clearly satisfied at the answer. “Taking you to St George's for a check up, all right?”

“I'm coming along,” said Mr Pendragon.

“Er, sir,” said the paramedic. “Are you a relative?”

Mr Pendragon balled his fists. His cheeks were as puffed up as a football's. Mordred would never have crossed him in such a mood but the paramedic had. “I'm--”

Merlin pre-empted Mr Pendragon and said, “Can he come, please?”

The paramedic grunted, looked to a colleague, grunted again, and said, “Yes, but just this time, all right?”

And with that they were out of the room and Leon's house.

 

***** 

Mordred felt so guilty for having nearly killed Merlin that he neither ate nor slept for the rest of the day. At last, starving for news – Merlin might have had a relapse – Mordred rang Gwaine up for an update.

“He was admitted at St George’s,” Gwaine said. “They thought it best to monitor him. I'm going to visit him tomorrow but he's fine. I even talked to him on the phone. He's okay.”

“Right, I still want to see him and make sure.”

“Well, maybe Arthur won't be too happy about that,” said Gwaine. “As it turns out you nearly killed his man.”

Mordred made a gasping sound at that.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Gwaine. “That was supposed to be tongue in cheek and all about us finding out those two are an item – who'd have thought – but yeah I'll give you a lift there. First thing tomorrow okay?”

“Yeah, please, yeah.”

Merlin had a tiny room at the end of a long, dreary corridor. He was lying on a gurney bed, wearing a shirt and joggers but no hospital whites. Mr Pendragon was sitting in a foldable chair next to him. He looked like death warmed up and worse off than Merlin, who'd recovered his usual healthy glow. Playing cards were spread out on top of the covers, indicating a game was ongoing; mostly, though, Mr Pendragon seemed to be staring moonily at Merlin. 

Then Merlin slapped down the trump card, taking the remaining tricks and winning the hand.

Smiling in a goofy way Mordred had never seen, Mr Pendragon leant upwards. Merlin swooped down and their lips met halfway, touching with a tenderness Mordred wouldn't have expected from either, then returning again for a deeper exploration. Merlin's lips half-parted; Mr Pendragon's breathing got short and uncertain. Merlin started twisting the flimsy hospital bed sheets in his fingers. 

Even though the door was open, they seemed to be getting comfortable. Mordred cleared his throat and knocked perfunctorily. 

They sprung apart but Merlin smiled when he saw him. “Mordred, hello.”

Mordred stepped in, holding the teddy he'd bought against his chest. “Hi, Merlin, I just wanted to see for myself how you were doing.” 

“That's rather rich of you,” said Mr Pendragon.

“I didn't,” Mordred started, not knowing how to say that he hadn't meant to harm Merlin.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, smile gone. “He didn't do it on purpose. I didn't think to tell him because I was stupid.”

Mr Pendragon sauntered up to Mordred, looking at him out of narrowed eyes. “He gave you the one thing sure to kill you.”

“I didn't even suspect he was allergic to anything,” Mordred said, starting in a small voice but getting more confident as he went. He felt horrible about having caused Merlin to have that attack but he couldn't have known about his allergies and he wouldn't let Mr Pendragon pin that bout on him. “I saw him take a mango cake away from Pret à Manger the other week. I thought he liked it.”

Mr Pendragon twisted his torso so he was now looking at Merlin. “That was for me.”

“I certainly couldn't tell him,” Merlin said, shrugging it off. “I never thought to mention I couldn't eat it but that it was for you.”

“I didn't know,” Mordred said, looking to Merlin for support. “I should've asked though.”

“You had no idea,” Merlin said. “Look, my mum once cleaned some artichokes wearing what she thought were rubber gloves. There was a fair amount of latex in those rubber gloves. I ended up at the A&E on a Tuesday evening. So, see, it can happen to anybody.”

Mordred tightened his grip on the bear then lifted it by the ear to show that that was Merlin's get well present. “I got you this. I thought I'd rather avoid edibles.”

Merlin smiled warmly. Against Mr Pendragon's half huffed protest, he rose from the bed and took it from Mordred himself. “Thank you, Mordred.”

“I'm sorry, about pressuring you to...” Mordred spluttered, taking in Merlin's guileless, pleased expression and Mr Pendragon's locked jaw. “I--”

Merlin looked down; Mr Pendragon's chest, Mordred thought, stuck out. 

Mordred soldiered on. “To... I'm sorry I flirted. I thought you weren't getting my advances and that I should only try a bit harder, but evidently--”

Mr Pendragon looked away. Merlin engaged. “At first I honest to God didn't think of it that way and then I couldn't tell you.”

Mordred bobbed his head. He was starting to see the pattern.

Mr Pendragon gave them a once over out of the corner of his eyes, then strode towards them, brushing knuckles with Merlin. “I'll go get a coffee,” he said.

Merlin nodded. 

Mordred said, “No, please, wait,” but Mr Pendragon had already marched out, wallet at the ready.

Merlin sat on the end of his bed, propping the smiling teddy against his hip. “I wasn't leading you on. When I realised, I mean. Arthur told me... But I thought he was being. I didn't mean to, sorry.”

“Why did you two keep it secret?” Mordred asked. “I don't think anyone would have objected.”

“He's my boss.”

“There's no anti-fraternisation rule,” Mordred said. He'd checked. “I'm not sure I get it.”

“Yeah, but this is a bit different,” Merlin said, brow creasing so much Mordred could count the lines. “When I started out, I was with Freya. So I did have an office romance. We didn't tell all and sundry we were together, but we were. Then Freya and I broke up.” He looked up, probably having caught Mordred's curious eyebrow arch. “Completely amicably, by the way. After a while, Arthur and I... Arthur and I started off hating each other, sort of.”

Mordred's lips turned up. “So the epic, legendary feud wasn't a cover-up?”

Merlin sniggered. “No, not a cover up. We head-butted lots. There were shouting matches. All that was true. He could have given me the sack any day but he never did. We...”

“Had a thing.”

“I should probably have clued in the moment I realised I was spending more time having arguments with Arthur than doing anything else,” Merlin said. “And then we got together but couldn't tell anyone but his sister –who by the way apologises for her act at the shopping centre, jealous on Arthur's behalf -- because people would have thought he was playing favourites. Or that I had the job because of him. Or that propositioning him was the thing to do if you wanted a career boost and that was just out of the question.”

Mordred tilted his head, contemplative. “But you never had a career boost. If anything you deserve a promotion you weren't given.”

“Arthur wanted to,” Merlin said. “I didn't need it. And I'd rather not jeopardise the thing with Arthur or my friendships at work. If they found out...”

“But nobody did.”

Merlin rubbed at his neck. “No, even though I'm a bad liar.”

“I should've guessed. Instead I thought Ms Nemeth was his significant other actually.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, eyebrows going up. “You thought Mithian... Wow. No, she's... Arthur proposed. I said I wanted to, you know, but the truth is I don't want any rights to what he owns of Albion Ratings. Civil partners do get property rights and Albion is Arthur's. I don't want it. I want to stay an employee. I asked for Mithian to find me a legal loophole.”

“But laws are changing. What if you wait long enough to get married?” Mordred asked. “Then you'd have the same problem.”

“I'm looking to Mithian,” said Merlin, “for a solution. I don't want to be thought of as someone who wants a slice of what's Arthur's.”

“That's absurd,” Mordred said.

“That's what I told him,” Mr Pendragon said, two cups of coffee in his hands. He was clearly back from his coffee run. “But he won't listen.”

Merlin's shoulders rose up to his ears. “I wouldn't feel okay otherwise.”

“Okay?” Arthur asked. “Okay? You'd have what's mine. There'd be nothing wrong with that.”

Merlin sighed. This seemed like an old argument. “Arthur--”

“I made a mistake,” Mordred said, interrupting them before they could continue. He was quite sure they could go on indefinitely and that they'd discussed this time and again and had fodder to go on for hours. “Several actually. Coming between you was one. And I apologise.”

“My fault,” Merlin said.

“And mine,” Mr Pendragon said, hiding behind his cup. “Keeping it secret for so long was a mistake.”

“Does this mean you'll...”

“Come out for you all?” Merlin asked, jumping up. “I guess everyone's put two and two together by now, but yeah, we could have a pub round to celebrate the truth.”

“I'll drink to you both,” Mordred said, encompassing both Merlin and his boss in his gaze. “Gladly.”

Mr Pendragon raised his coffee cup in a toast.

 

**** 

Gwaine slapped his palm on the table and shouted, “To Arthur and Merlin, a toast.”

Everyone raised their glasses and Mordred was the very first.

“You don't need to drink to us,” Merlin was saying, “we haven't decided on anything yet.”

Arthur reeled Merlin in by the neck, his palm spread across his nape. “For once I agree with Merlin. Let's keep this low key.”

Gwaine jumped on the booth seat. “No way. You deprived us of the chance to do this when it happened – and of the sex tape that goes with – but there's no way we're not toasting you.”

There was a general murmur of agreement, to which Mordred contributed the loudest.

Merlin's eyes disappeared into a series of crinkles. “Oh, do what you want; you just want to get pissed.”

“Not true,” said Gwaine, raising his glass. “To Merlin and Arthur.”

 

***** 

Out-take: the night of Mordred and Merlin's shopping date.  
Arthur's flat, 262 Richmond Road, Putney.

Arthur was weighing down on the corner of Merlin's arm, his head cradled by pillows that smelt very much like him. He picked out the pattern of Merlin's breathing and grinned. Briefly, he let himself enjoy the moment, lying there stretched there arm to arm, so calm and quiet they were at peace with the world around them. Except for a few tiny imperfections. For example Merlin had hogged most of the duvet. And Merlin's feet were cold where they were tucked between his, threatening to freeze the rest of Arthur by osmosis. Yet Merlin's breath was warm as were those parts of his body that were trapped under the covers. Those were hot with that just woken skin quality to them that Arthur loved so much.

Lips creased into a grin, Merlin bent over him. “Hello,” he said. “Had a nice nap?”

Arthur could sense Merlin's breath shivering over his skin. “Yeah, very nice. I missed you today.”

“Was out buying Leon his present,” Merlin mumbled, his lips dancing and sliding over his torso. “Had to leave you to your devices. Plus, you even called, so you can't say you were left alone with yourself all day long.”

Arthur gasped when Merlin's mouth lingered on a patch of skin that had always turned him on. “That boy wants you.”

Merlin took his nipple into his mouth, coaxing it, licking at it until it was teased into hardness. “And I want you.”

It was cheesy. God, it was cheesy, but Arthur couldn't fight the smile that wanted to surface or the heat that pooled at his groin.

Merlin noticed his cock rising and so lowered himself beside him, running gentle fingertips down the length of his arm, across his chest, moving his hand across his stomach to finally cup his cock and knead it harder. 

“I can work with that,” Arthur rasped, as Merlin pulled at him.

“Good.” Merlin moved to top him. Looking down at him out of fond eyes, he gave Arthur a lippy kiss that became something else the moment Arthur started probing at Merlin's mouth with his tongue. 

“Good,” Arthur said, circling his arms around his back and rolling him over until Arthur was straddling Merlin. 

Merlin laughed out loud after having released an oomph. “Are you trying to stake a claim now?”

“No,” Arthur said, “I did a long time ago.”

Merlin's eyes rolled up heavenwards in mockery of Arthur's statement but his breath hitched in his throat when Arthur put his hands on his cock. “Okay, I'm all yours,” he said.

“Oh, so you're all mine only if I service you the way you want?” Arthur bent down and took a suck out of Merlin's cock. 

“Yeah, works like tha-- that. You got me,” said Merlin.

Arthur pulled hard on Merlin's cock, laving and sucking until the head poked out from the thick foreskin. Arthur gathered a dollop of bitter per-come on his tongue and tasted it before taking Merlin fully into his mouth again. Arthur did so until he was swiping lips and tongue back and forth along Merlin's length in a spit wet mess that had Merlin clawing at his backside. Before he'd hollowed out his cheeks again, with barely the tip in, come took to pouring from Merlin's cock, wetting not only his belly, but also his torso, thick stripes of it marking him Arthur's.

With Merlin still in the throes of post coital bliss, Arthur leant over and across the night-stand, slid open a drawer, got a lube dispenser out of it, and opened Merlin up. 

Merlin acted as though he was too out of it to comment much though Arthur could tell that he liked it when Arthur touched him right, bringing him to half mast again, and that he loved it even more when Arthur eased inside him till Merlin had the whole of him.

Locked together, they stayed put, getting used to the feeling of it, to the closeness this got them into and that kept being a bit stunning no matter how often they had sex. Then Arthur broke the no motion spell, leaning forward, and kissed Merlin on the lips, his tongue sliding into his mouth and under Merlin's, then on his throat, along his collarbones, at the hollow at the base of his throat. He kept mouthing at Merlin's skin even as he rocked his hips forward, canting them up and up, until there was nowhere left he could go.

At that heavy heat seeped through Arthur; all he could hear was the steady drumming of his heart in his ear, the fierce warmth that lit up his limbs down to his fingertips. Even so, even with his focus centred around his own pleasure and his own body, he could never forget Merlin. He imprinted his face on his memory, just in case this would not be his one day. Re-learnt the memory of him – his face, eyes, muscle and bone – and saved it for rainy days until all he could know was Merlin. Like this, Arthur could feel him round him, accepting him; could feel the strength of Merlin's body as it went taut and corded while Merlin tried to spur Arthur on, closer, faster.

His thighs firm, a vice around him. His arms clasping him tight. 

Closer to his climax now, Arthur darted his tongue between Merlin lips, hot and wet, caught in a heated exchange, playing tag. Their grunts, growls and sobs filled the air.

Driven on by nature, his breathing got faster, harder, just like the motion of their bodies. Arthur thrust, pushing Merlin's arms up until Arthur had a grip of his wrists, Merlin's hands clamping round the bed's rails. 

Hips doing their own job, Arthur got in the zone, his body functioning separate from thought. The urgency that worked at him from the inside out got him moving on and on, inching forward, withdrawing, slamming upwards until he had Merlin pretzeled under him, raking fingers up Arthur's spine, calling his name and making him more his than Arthur's physical claim ever could.

And then Arthur shuddered and went still.

As the roaring at his temples faded, Arthur came back to himself, to the kisses Merlin was scattering along the side of his face, to his bedroom and the here and now. 

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows, looked Merlin in the eyes and saw something in them that melted his spine. He palmed Merlin's heart, felt its beat adjust to normalcy, felt the heat of skin that had leeched warmth from his.

“Feel better now?” Merlin asked.

Arthur didn't answer; an insidious smile unfolding on his lips. He covered it up by kissing Merlin's chest where his heart was before moving and lying back at Merlin's side. “Love you in my bed,” he just said.

“You always do,” Merlin joked, turning on his side, balanced on his elbow. “Can't do without me really. Got all riled up when Mor--”

Arthur was all over Merlin in a heartbeat, tickling at his sides till Merlin was hooting with laughter.  
“I didn't,” he said. “I wasn't. Take it back.”

“Nope,” Merlin said, ribcage shaking. Arthur knew he wouldn't last long like this. “Nooope.”

“Take it back.”

“Won't--”

The tickle fight lasted longer that Arthur thought it would but then again it devolved nicely and though Merlin didn't take his words back, Arthur had forgotten about them by the time they were done.

 

The End.


End file.
